First Light
by Elliott Silver
Summary: Maybe it's not about what you end, but what you begin.


Title: First Light

Author: Elliott Silver

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who responded to my first story. Your comments are my encouragement, and I am very grateful and humbled by your words.

* * *

"I missed you."

Castle's voice breaks through the pandemonium as she carries a cup of coffee, her fourth or fortieth, she can't remember, to her now-cluttered desk. She nearly drops it.

"You didn't come to my party," he pouts. He sits down in his chair by the side of her desk and unbuttons his coat. She can barely see a peak-lapelled tuxedo jacket underneath, and the tangled knot of his black tie against the snowy white of his shirt.

"Well, Castle, some of us actually have to work on New Year's Eve."

Her voice sounds a little cool, but she's tired and hasn't heard from him since before Christmas. She knew he'd been spending most of his time overseeing the renovation to his bar before the grand party on New Year's Eve, and she'd spent all of her time on a string of serial murders. They've both been busy and she wonders if that's enough of an excuse.

She can feel him quietly watching her as she sifts through the cascading mountain of paperwork on her desk. He does that when he's worried about her, although it's hard to believe Castle does anything quietly, but she's not surprised. It's very late for her, or very early for him, and she feels the weight of every minute.

A man in a gorilla suit runs by and she neatly slides out her foot into the aisle. He trips and sprawls, but the rubber suit prevents him from sliding very far. Two very-hassled cops haul him to his unsteady feet, murmuring their thanks as they disappear towards booking.

"Is it always like this on New Year's?" Castle asks, as three officers marshal two streakers, nude beneath grey wool blankets, through the doorway.

"This is nothing," she says without looking up from the case files she's trying to organize. "You should be down by Times Square."

"What time did you get in?" he asks, as he turns back to her.

"Seven," she answers.

"That's over 20 hours ago," he calculates in his head, since it's gone three already.

"44," she corrects him.

He cocks his head in confusion.

"I came in yesterday to wrap up the Charles case, but it's hard to leave when it's always such a zoo around here," her voice trails off as someone vomits loudly. She doesn't want to admit she's here because she doesn't want to be alone, because she doesn't want to sit in her apartment thinking of all the things she hasn't done with her life. She doesn't want to tell him that she always promises herself she won't do this again, that she hates being here on this night, because it reminds her she's missing the rest of her life, missing it the way her dad did when her mother died.

"Don't you celebrate?" he asks, curious. "Or is it some cop-thing to work all the major holidays, you know, the really fun ones?"

"My dad always worked New Year's, so my mom and I would watch the ball drop. After that – "

She doesn't say any more, she doesn't have to. She's never told anyone and she's surprised to find she's telling Castle, because she's half-afraid anything she says might end up in his next book.

He stays silent, waiting to see if she'll say anything else but she doesn't so he fills the silence instead.

"Alexis was always too sensible to stay up past her bedtime, so we always cook breakfast at first light on New Year's Day instead." He breathes, and grins rakishly. "Besides, my mother always comes in at dawn, and my pancakes are a proven cure for hangovers."

She knows he's trying to lighten the mood, but it makes her wish she had something like that, people who wonder where she is when she isn't with them. She sighs and hands a stack of thick folders to a young rookie with dark circles under his eyes and a smudge of chocolate sprinkles on his cheek.

"So why don't you celebrate now?"

"Every year I promise myself I'll actually watch the ball drop, but –" She doesn't know what to say, how to tell him all these things she's thinking. "– it just doesn't happen. And by then, it's too late."

"No, it's not," he says and hops up from his chair. He grins, and she can see he has some sort of plan brewing. This always worries her, but the smile on his face is his sincere one, the genuine one that makes his face light up and all the lines soften, and she can't find a reason to say no, or she doesn't want to. Either way, she goes out with him into the night, their breaths fogging in the cold air.

They walk to his apartment because it would be futile and life-endangering to take a cab now. He takes her hand at one point, to stop her from walking in front of a car skidding through a red light, but he holds it only until they reach the far curb. She feels the loss keenly. When they reach his building, he holds the elevator for her, but presses the button for the top floor and when they step off, he swings around to a small stairway. She follows him cautiously, because not all of Castle's schemes work out perfectly.

He waits at the top, jiggling with the lock on the door, and then steps through. She takes a breath and follows him. The winter freeze broke several days ago, but there's still snow on the roof, and the surface looks spotted with icy patches, like a dalmatian dog or appaloosa horse.

She walks to the edge, as if she's not scared of falling, and looks over the surrounding city. The first streaks of blue spread over the horizon, but it's still dark and the world lies in shadow below them. Somewhere behind her, she hears him walk over, the leather soles of his shoes snapping against the rough surface of the roof.

He stands besides her, as if that is enough, and for several long moments they are silent, letting the world and the wind spin along without them.

A blush of pink stains the edge of the world, and she shivers in the cool wind.

Beside her, Castle springs to action, juggling for his phone. As usual, he can never remember what pocket it's in. He makes a great show of propping the fancy toy in his cupped hand and stretches out his arm in front of them so she can see.

The screen flickers, and then the picture stabilizes. She recognizes Times Square, the crowds, the funny glasses with the year around the eyeholes, plastic top hats and the inevitable screech of noisemakers. Over it all Dick Clark's voice wavers and the chanting commences.

"10 – 9 – 8 – "

His shoulder is warm against hers and they lean against each other, as if they've perfected doing just that. Maybe they have, she thinks.

" – 7 – 6 – 5 – "

The glittering ball sinks lower and lower.

" – 4 – 3 – 2 – "

She looks at him and behind his outstretched hand the sun rises, exploding against the darkness, breaking open the new year with light.

" – 1 – "

His phone crackles with the roar of the crowd and fireworks, and but she isn't looking at the screen. His eyes are bright on hers, and she realizes that once again she hasn't seen the ball hit home. She isn't worried. Maybe it's not the count-down that matters, but what you count up to.

Maybe it's not about what you end, but what you begin.

The sun melts the New York skyline, and Castle leans to kiss her cheek. She feels the warmth of his breath against her skin.

Every year she promises herself the same thing, but maybe this year she can live up to her promises or at least, her heart.

She turns her head at the last second.  
His lips are warm and soft, and he tastes a little like champagne and that orange lip-balm he carries around in his pocket. He freezes, and it's the first time she can remember him being really still. His eyes are wide as she touches his cheek with her gloved hand, and just barely touches her mouth to his again.

"Happy New Year," she says.

"It is," he answers her.

The sun is bright behind them, and she doesn't feel cold as she leans back against him. Together they watch the world rattle on, bathed in a golden glow. They stay there like that, her back to his chest, her gloved hands in his. Maybe nothing's changed, maybe everything has, but he's warm and solid behind her, and maybe that's all she ever wanted.

His phone buzzes. He unearths it from his pocket.

"Alexis wants to know when we're coming in for breakfast."


End file.
